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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26934223">Buried</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcakefingers/pseuds/cupcakefingers'>cupcakefingers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Don't say goodbye, Isolation, M/M, No. 8, Other, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Suicide, Vomiting, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, abandoned</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:10:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26934223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcakefingers/pseuds/cupcakefingers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Of course, he </i>was <i>the last to be informed.</i></p><p>
  <i>Barnes moved towards the bed and with surprising calmness took the wrinkled hand into his own. It wasn’t so perfect anymore, was covered in small scars and liver spots. He slowly moved his eyes along the arm, then up to Steve’s face. Died in his sleep, peacefully.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Buried</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>DO NOT READ IT IF YOU'RE SUICIDAL. This work describes the last days of depression and graphic suicide from the victim's POV. If you are depressed, suicidal, or have any other mental illness that may badly interact with this kind of media, please seek professional help and do not read this fic, since it may make you feel worse. Here's a link for the international suicide prevention chat, in case anyone needs it:</p><p>https://www.suicidestop.com/suicide_prevention_chat_online.html</p><p>***</p><p>Okay, I had this fic idea for a long time and now that I had the perfect opportunity to write, of course I have to be late... It's mainly based on Sebastian Stan's interview where he said that Steve's the only reason Bucky haven't commited suicide or something along those lines</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was hard to look at him alive and even harder when he died.</p><p><br/>Steve’s body was laying before everyone on a bed in a hospital. Bucky couldn’t even remember which hospital was it, the one with a high-security wing - that’s for sure. Nothing less for Captain America.</p><p><br/>There was a small silent crowd in the room and only one nurse, guarding his lifeless corpse in case anyone wanted to steal the precious body. He was sure she was an agent in disguise. There were some people he recognized, some he didn’t, and apparently everyone came before him. Strange. It took him only a few minutes to arrive. Unless he was the last to be informed.</p><p><br/>He looked Wilson straight in the eyes but Sam immediately looked down and avoided any contact. Doctor Banner’s huge form was sitting right next to the headrest, guilt painted all over his green face. He was holding a Wakandan mourning figurine. Between them, stood a blonde, staring through the window with her back turned to him.</p><p><br/>Bucky turned his head to look at the rest.</p><p><br/>The Hawkguy, or something, took the redheaded witch to the corner and tried to calm her down, while she clearly looked to be in shock, twitching, moving in small steps, her pupils glowing red. The Asgardian god sat at Steve’s feet, gazing wistfully into the void of the white wall with puffy eyes and the annoying Spider-kid started weeping at the small table, while this Ant-guy tried to cheer him. Even though he was also crying.</p><p><br/>Of course, he <em> was </em>the last to be informed.</p><p><br/>Barnes moved towards the bed and with surprising calmness took the wrinkled hand into his own. It wasn’t so perfect anymore, was covered in small scars and liver spots. He slowly moved his eyes along the arm, then up to Steve’s face. Died in his sleep, peacefully.</p><p><br/>Well. Nothing more for him here. Bucky gently put the almost cold hand back on the sheets and couldn't stop himself from releasing a heavy sigh before he walked out. Someone was shouting something behind him, sounded like Wilson, but he cut it out and moved faster.</p><p><br/>After eleven days, not one tear came down his cheeks. Overall, he was barely eating, apart from that one time when he ordered take-out from a couple of places and ate all of it in three hours, after emptying his fridge. His days consisted mostly of sleeping, staring into the ceiling, and looking through his journals, the ones he still had. Listening to automatically playing voicemails. At first, they were mostly condolences from everyone, which consisted of people he barely knew or didn’t know at all. Later, mostly from Wilson.</p><p><br/>A ringing sound came out of the apartment’s phone, then beeped after a minute, before revealing Sam’s voice.</p><p><br/>“Look, man… I literally know you’re still alive only ‘cause I checked your apartment’s bills and cameras. I know you’re not going anywhere out, and I know no one’s visiting you. Please, don’t do anything stupid, I know how hard it is to lose someone that important to you… And I’ve seen your med-bills, I know you’ve been asking for super-soldier painkillers and a megadose of temazepam.</p><p><br/>“I don’t know if you genuinely need them or if you’re planning something but I’ve seen enough of this kind of behavior to recognize what it is. I know you won’t talk to the specialist, most of us don’t want to. But come on, it<em> never </em>ends well when we isolate ourselves. If you ever need anything, even just to hear someone’s voice or someone who’s gonna sit in silence with you… just hit me up, man. Really.”</p><p><br/>That was kind of him. Too bad Barnes didn’t have the mental energy to call back or invite him over. That’d be nice. But what if Sam would look where he’s not supposed to? What if he’d find the pills he has been collecting for the last week? That <em>wouldn’t</em> be nice.</p><p><br/>The longer Bucky was not contacting Sam, or anyone, the more persistent and annoying Wilson got. On the 34th day after Steve’s passing and another voicemail, he felt an unusual shot of energy. He got out of the bed and immediately went under the shower to wash off a layer of dirt and sweat that’s been building up for the last four days. Pleasantly clean, he ate whatever he had left in the fridge for breakfast, then washed the pile of moldy dishes, before scrubbing the sink to leave it as clean as new. After using the toilet, he had a hunch that maybe he should clean it too. And the whole bathroom.</p><p><br/>He was working on autopilot, not thinking about anything. His head was completely empty, apart from small moments when he was reading the labels of cleaning products. The bathroom was clean, but now the rug in the rest of the apartment felt weirdly dirty. He ought to vacuum it. What would the people say when they come in and see a dirty-ass rug?</p><p><br/>But first - he should wipe the dust off of everything. If he had vacuumed first, and then wiped, the agents would see little lumps of dust on the carpet and will have to call in the cleaning crew. That wouldn’t be kind of him, he’d just be willingly making a mess for others to clean.</p><p><br/>And maybe the windows, he hasn’t cleaned windows since he was a teenager. And, of course, the bed. It’s better to take the sheets off of everything, fold them and separate from the pillows and the quilt. So the nice laundry lady from this floor can just take them and leave, go back to her work, probably more important than his stupid sheets.</p><p><br/>Oh, how could he forget about his personal things! Someone will have to search the entire apartment to find his belongings and that’s just such a waste of these peoples’ time. He was given a duffle bag before moving to this place, it should fit everything.</p><p><br/>And when everything was in order, when every corner of his place was scrubbed squeaky clean, he let out a sigh that seemed a tiny bit too shaky. He sat on the chair.</p><p><br/>No. He has seen enough people die to know what happens. He’ll make a mess and he imagines that would be a bitch to wash off the carpet. Bathtub.</p><p><br/>Bucky got up and walked to one of the kitchen’s cupboards. Opened one of them, then reached far to the back, to pull out two shot glasses filled with pills. Then found a huge beer glass which he filled to the brim with tap water.</p><p><br/>“Well… here goes nothing,” he said, before swallowing the first, then the second portion of pills. They were quite big, so it took him much longer than he expected to drink them down, but he managed to do it. Of course, he hasn’t forgotten to wash all three glasses, before taking off his shoes and making himself relatively comfortable in the bathtub.</p><p><br/>He thought about the past, about Steve, and about this monster<em> they </em>made him be. That he didn’t really have any valid relations to anyone, maybe except for Wilson, but it was obviously strictly professional. Sam was calling him just out of courtesy because he’s a good person. Maybe he should have called back... </p><p><br/>His head started swimming and sudden numbness overwhelmed his body. It was difficult to keep his eyes open, so he stopped trying. He’ll go now. Peacefully, in his sleep. Like Steve.</p><p><br/>A feeling that was both sharp and dull hit his stomach and acid flew up his gullet to burn the back of his throat. He started salivating. Barnes swallowed and had difficulties breathing, while cold sweat formed on his forehead. He knew the uncomfortable feeling in his abdomen was pain, suppressed by impossible doses of painkillers. His body moved on its own accord and pulled itself forwards, just in time for the vomit to spill out of his mouth.</p><p><br/>White grainy liquid covered his shirt and jeans, and he could barely see it through tears, which came out of his eyes for the first time in a long while. The second time he threw up, the bathroom was spinning so violently he just closed his eyes. The ringing in his head overwhelmed his senses and made him fall back like a ragdoll. Bucky barely noticed a faint impact his head made with the bathtub. He managed to make out a harsh phone ringing, cutting through the air, once again ignored.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <em> I’m sorry, Sam, no goodbye. </em>
</p><p><br/>No ‘Goodbye’. Just like from Steve.</p>
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